‘You were Francis Haggard’s friend as well as a co-worker?’ Clarke began.
‘Yes,’ Driscoll said.
‘Ever visit his flat in Newhaven?’
‘Plenty times.’
‘Did you do drugs there with him?’
‘No comment.’
‘Or see him do drugs himself?’
‘We’re none of us angels.’
‘Is that a yes?’
‘It’s a no comment.’
‘What about the break-in at his home?’ Fox added. ‘Anything to tell us about that?’
‘No comment.’
‘We were asking you earlier,’ Fox went on, ‘if you knew who stood to gain most from his death...’
‘No comment.’
Clarke leaned forward. ‘Is that how we’re playing this, Rob? I mean, it’s up to you, obviously, but as of right now, you are our main suspect. You were the one he was planning to meet the night he was killed. You were the one he trusted.’
Driscoll stared across the table at her. ‘You’ve got his phone, right? So you must know I tried calling him again at midnight, by which time his body had already been found.’
‘How do you know what time the body was discovered?’
‘I’m a cop.’
‘Classic alibi technique,’ Fox said nonchalantly. ‘Make it look as though you couldn’t have known he was dead. I’ve seen it before, maybe you have too — after all, you’re a cop.’
‘Fuck you, DI Fox.’
Susan Jones decided it was time to intervene. ‘Is my client being charged with anything, or is this just a fishing expedition?’
‘Oh, it’s a lot more than that, Ms Jones,’ Clarke answered. ‘The procurator fiscal is very interested in Rob here. Very interested.’
‘We’d like to examine your client’s phone,’ Fox added. ‘Phones plural if he has more than one — plus his home and work computers. We also have CCTV evidence from the Newhaven break-in, so it might be that PC Driscoll is required for an identity parade.’
‘I was nowhere near the flat,’ Driscoll growled. ‘Is this you trying to fit me up?’
Fox studied him for a moment. ‘Now you know how Tony Barlow must have felt.’
‘Are you a detective or a bloody archaeologist?’
‘Probably a bit of both. It’s amazing how often history can come back to haunt those involved.’
‘I’d like to consult with my client,’ Jones stated, needing the gaps in her knowledge filled in.
‘Knock yourself out,’ Fox said, closing his folder. In the hallway, he turned to face Clarke. ‘I don’t suppose we’ve grounds to hold him.’
‘Not really, not yet at least. But who the hell’s Tony Barlow?’
‘Misidentified as a paedophile, given summary justice by the Crew, headed by Driscoll under orders from Fleck.’ Fox gestured towards the MIT office. ‘Another coffee?’
‘You get started, I’ll catch you up.’
She turned the handle and pulled open the door to IV1. Tommy Oram was up on his feet, pacing the floor, under the watchful eye of a uniform from downstairs. He stopped and looked at Clarke.
‘Off you go then,’ she said. ‘But be warned that you might be hearing from us again. And if there’s anything you think we should know...’
‘Half my bloody day wasted,’ Oram said, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair. ‘Thank you very bloody much.’
‘I’m sure your employer will be sympathetic. If he isn’t, send him along and I’ll have a word with him. Saves us summoning him ourselves.’
21
Rebus recognised the passenger first. He tugged at one of the car’s rear doors and threw himself in. The two men in the front seats flinched and turned towards him.
‘All right, Alan?’ Rebus said to Fleck, reaching out to give the man’s shoulder a squeeze.
‘Rob,’ Fleck said to the man in the driver’s seat, ‘you remember John Rebus?’
‘Heading indoors, are we?’ Rebus pointed towards Leith police station, fifty yards further along the street.
‘Rob here’s already had his grilling,’ Fleck said. ‘It’s us oldies next, John, eh?’
‘They’ve been going through the Complaints files,’ Rebus stated. ‘My name’s come up more than I’d like. Apparently I was some kind of broker between Tynecastle and the likes of Cafferty.’
‘They didn’t mention that to me,’ Driscoll said, studying Rebus in the rear-view mirror.
‘So what did you chat about?’
‘They brought up Tony Barlow,’ Fleck answered.
‘They?’
‘Two DIs, Clarke and Fox,’ Driscoll replied. ‘But specifically Fox. He was Complaints, now Specialist Crime.’
‘Rob was the last person Francis was in contact with,’ Fleck said, all his earlier fake heartiness gone. ‘MIT have zeroed in on that.’
‘I’ll bet they have.’
‘It won’t go anywhere — there’s nowhere for it to go,’ Driscoll said.
‘Which is presumably why they’ve added Barlow to the pot.’
‘You know this bastard Fox?’
‘We’ve had dealings, haven’t we, Alan?’
‘Never got very far,’ Fleck countered. ‘We were far too canny to let that happen.’
‘One loose link in the chain is all it takes,’ Rebus said. ‘And with Francis Haggard, Fox thinks he has his link.’
‘Pity the chain seems to have fallen down a grating.’ Fleck was smiling quietly. Rebus got the feeling it was a performance meant to bolster Driscoll, who was gripping the steering wheel as though ready to choke the life from it. Fleck even patted the younger man’s arm, as if to calm him. ‘You did the right thing, Rob. Bringing your lawyer in and then saying as little as possible. Here’s hoping the others are half as wise.’ Then he half turned towards Rebus. ‘Best not keep them waiting, eh?’
He opened the passenger door and climbed out. Rebus followed suit, the two men striding towards their destination.
‘Nice motor,’ Rebus commented. Driscoll was still gripping the steering wheel, staring straight ahead without seeing.
‘He’ll be selling it soon, if you’re interested.’
‘What I’m interested in is keeping my name out of this.’
‘Sounds like it’s too late for that, John.’
‘One meeting I set up, just one.’
‘Sure your memory’s not going?’
‘I did it as a favour, nothing more — and I stayed the other side of the door.’
‘I’d be disappointed if you weren’t listening in, though?’ Fleck watched Rebus shake his head. ‘Or if Cafferty didn’t fill you in afterwards?’
‘Not that either.’
‘And I suppose the ton I gave you as thanks went to good causes?’
‘I probably used it to prop up local businesses,’ Rebus said.
Fleck came to a stop and faced him. ‘You really don’t know what that meeting with Cafferty was about?’
‘I really don’t.’
Fleck sought something in Rebus’s eyes and body language, failing to find it. He shook his head slowly and opened the door to the police station, Rebus following him inside. Fleck gave his name to the front desk and was handed a visitor pass.
‘They want me too,’ Rebus told the officer. He signed in and clipped his own pass to his jacket. A young man in a suit opened the inner door.
‘Mr Fleck?’
Fleck held out a hand for him to shake. The officer stared blankly at Rebus.
‘I’m John Rebus,’ Rebus informed him. ‘DI Clarke invited me along for a chat.’
‘I’m DC King,’ King said by way of introduction. ‘If you’ll follow me...’
‘How long have you been in CID, son?’ Fleck asked as they were led towards the stairs.